Praises Far too Simple

I sang no dirge at Your birth, my Lord;
Though You were born to die.
Only praises on my lips, oh Lord,
When for me You were bled dry.
Such mercy You’ve granted my soul, oh God;
So tenderly stitching my wounds,
Though I deserve the pain, my God,
For what I’ve done to You.
But now guilt need not drag me down;
The tears in Your flesh hold claim.
With gentle love You found my eyes,
And softly You whisper my name.
How can I resist Your call, my Love?
How can I stay away
When You tell me I am beautiful;
Cleanse shame and ease my pain?
Your words are my soul’s healing balm,
Like oil that soothes the skin;
For by itself, it’s cracked and dry,
Until I soak You in.
I never can phrase it just right, my Lord.
I never quite know what to say.
But I know that I miss You painfully
Whenever I wander away.